To Be Conquered
by HistoryLights
Summary: In World War Two the nation of France lasted only one year before being taken captive by Germany... Undergoing major revisions...
1. Chapter 1

Prologue 

The robe fell smoothly from his shoulders in one swoop. He tried to cover himself up to the best of his ability, though it was hard, being chained to a stone wall. His captor laughed at his efforts.

"Vhat is vrong France?" he asked, moving to cup the blonde nation's face roughly. France winced at the contact before glaring at Germany; willing all of his hatred into the look. Germany laughed again, not finding the nation frightening in the least. "I thought you _liked_ showing your body to other nations, you filthy whore?"

Swallowing the sting to his pride, France mustered up enough rebellion to spit in the German's face. Rage instantly filled the Nazi nation's eyes.

"You filthy frog faced mutt!" he snarled, slapping him hard. France's head snapped to the side with the force of the blow. He glared fiercely at Germany when his head returned to its original position, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

"_V__ous__êtes__une__brute.__" _he spat. He could not deny the small spark of satisfaction when a small fleck of blood hit the German's cheek, making his nose crinkle in disgust.

Wiping the spot off, he grabbed a fistful of the French nation's hair, making France whimper in pain. He brought his face close to his own and relished in the flash of fear that crossed his fellow nation's eyes.

But wait. They weren't equals now were they? No. It was obvious that Germany was vastly superior to the this wavy haired slime chained in his basement.

"You should count yourself lucky that Italy reveres you as his "precious" groß bruder," he spat viciously in his face. "Othervise I vould not hesitate to kill you here and now."

France felt a spark of hope and gratefulness toward the Mediterranean Nation. It was short lived however as a cruel smile began to adorn Germany's features.

"However, Italy, precious naïve boy that he is, said nothing about torture..."

Any bravery that France might have felt before now fled at the look in the German's eyes.

"_Non,_" he pleaded, flinching away. "_s'il__vous__plaît,__non!__"_ he struggled with all his might, his efforts having very little effect.

"_R__uhig__sein__.__" _Germany spat "You pathetic excuse for a country." He let go of the Frenchman's hair reached for the belt at his waist.

"_s'il__vous__plaît!__s'il__vous__plaît,__Je__vous__en__prie__!__" _France sobbed. "_Non!__" _There was a snap and a cry.

"_Nationen__wie__sollte__man__von__der__Erde__ausgelöscht__werden__.__" _Germany muttered, slashing the whip across France's bare chest again. The resulting yelp was one he would hear in his dreams for centuries to come.

France's cries of pain were much sweeter than that Jewish filth Poland's. There was something; dare he say it? Something _innocent_ about the way he sobbed and pleaded for mercy.

A feral gleam came into his eyes as he laid a particularly nasty lash across him.

Every whimper and desperate attempt to twist away only made the German hit him harder and faster until France could do no more than hang limply with tears trailing down his face and pray for it to be over soon.

Prologue/End.

_Translations:  
>V<em>_ous__êtes__une__brute__(FR)-__You__are__a__brute_

_groß bruder (GER)- Big brother_

_Non (FR)- no_

_s'il__vous__plaît__(FR)-__please._  
><em>R<em>_uhig__sein__(GER)-__Be__quiet/shut__up_  
><em>Je<em>_vous__en__prie__(FR)-__I__beg__of__you_  
><em>Nationen<em>_wie__sollte__man__von__der__Erde__ausgelöscht__werden__(GER)-__Nations__like__you__should__be__wiped__from__the__earth._

_A/N:_And that's the first part of my five chapter story of France during WW2. Don't ask me why but I am sort of taken with uke!France * grin * or maybe I just like seeing Mr-I'm-gonna-rape-anything-that-moves bound :) 


	2. Chapter 1: Joyeux Anniversaire

Chapter one

_'text__here'_:are thoughts

"_text__here__"_: are phone messages.

_Paris-Present__Day  
><em>

_France's POV_

__Francis Bonnefoy, the human presentation of the Republic of France, was feeling lazy. Not that he didn't normally feel like this, but today was a special occasion.

Today was July 14. His birthday. He smiled as he watched his people celebration on the television from the comfort of his countryside home. 

Despite what most of the nations thought, France actually lived pretty modestly. Though comfortable, it was probably best described as a cottage. The living room was open and inviting with a big blue plush couch in the center and a large screened TV across from it. A glass coffee table stood between the two.

The kitchen was equally as inviting with a window that opened looked out on a forest. An antique oven and stove took central stage here and in the far corner, stood two cabinets; one for food stuffs and the other for his precious wines. A brightly lit hallway passed by a richly decorated bathroom and led toward two bedrooms- one for himself and the other for guests.

The master bedroom was by far the most expensive room in the house. Decorated in rich blues and pure whites, this was the one room that the southern nation had spared no expense on. A large four-poster bed stood in the center with fluffy pillows and a comforter decorated in fleur-dis-lis. Above the bed hung a massive French flag.

A cherry-oak desk stood off to the side where a lap sat, closed and silently glowing. And on the other side, a book self stood, filled with every book written by a French author, and even some foreign titles as well. It was in this room that France could be himself, in whatever way he saw fit.

Across the hall, the guest room was comfortably decorated in soft creams and ivory. The flags of each nation were strung up around the room and there were little trinkets from each nation hung here or perched there. The bed off to the side and under a large window, was comfortable. And another cherry-oak desk stood beside the bed.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He glanced at it from his spot on the couch. It was a notification from facebook. Yet another well wisher from his friends list. He'd been receiving them all day. His favorite had to be the one he had received early this morning from England. It had read: _"__Another__year__alive__Bloody__Frog.__Try__not__to__make__a__habit__of__it.__:P__"_ He picked it up and pressed a button to view the message.

He was vaguely surprised to see it was from America. The young nation seldom seemed to remember anyone's birthday besides his own and Mexico's. It read: _"__Yo__Dude__Happy__birthday__from__the__Hero!__Make__sure__you__get__totally__wasted__for__me__'kay?__"_ The French nation had to smile. It was difficult to remember that the excitable American was only 19 in human years. He laughed and tapped a reply.

"_Certainement__mon__ami,__I__only__wish__you__could__be__here__to__celebrate__with__me__;)__"_ He hit send and put his phone back down. Almost immediately his phone buzzed again. Shaking his head in amusement, he picked it back up, expecting a reply from the quick thumbed American. Instead, his eyes widened at a text from Germany.

He hadn't really spoken to the Northern nation all that much. Well not since... he shook himself before the memories could take hold again. This was a day for celebration. Not for remembering the past. Still...

He looked down at his phone; a strange foreboding overcoming him. Germany had never before given him any well wishes on his birthday previously. Why now, he wondered.

Overcoming, whatever oddness he was feeling, he pressed "view". Like the nation himself, the text was simple and direct.

It read, "_I__am__glad__you__are__not__dead.__" _ He cringed. He knew exactly what the words were referring to. But why now? Why bring this up after seventy plus years? He clenched his teeth and typed out a response:

"_Qui.__Do__not__tell__me__that__after__all__of__these__years,__you__are__feeling__remorseful?__" _He knew the text was scornful, but he did not care. His phone buzzed a reply and he hesitated. Did he really want the answer?

He pick up the phone.

"_Ja,__doch__"_

He set the phone back down and ran a shaky hand through his blonde locks. He couldn't decide whether he was more angry or upset. _'Merde!'_He thought.

With his good mood completely ruined, he stood and stumbled toward the wine cabinet in the kitchen. 

He opened the door and started sifting through the bottles. All he needed was a tall glass of Merlot and he'd be golden. He muttered to himself as looked over the years.

He was startled out of his wine haze by the sound of his phone ringing.

Going back to the living room he picked up his phone, thinking that it was England or Spain calling him.

It was not. The screen read _Kraut_. It was Germany. His lip trembled. What could he possibly want?  
>Swallowing his apprehension, he picked up the phone.<p>

"Uh hello France? I vould like to speak vith you if that's possible...?"

Chapter one/end

A/N: Nothing too terribly exciting happens in the first chapter. A word of warning for readers: This is a fanfic heavily invested in historic facts. If anyone wants to know the actual history behind anything in the story just message me.


	3. Chapter 2: Nuit Pluvieuse

Chapter two

Underlined-flashback,

_'_thoughts_'_

"direct speech"

Germany's POV

He wasn't sure what he'd planned on saying whenever he dialed France's number. He knew that France hated him. And if not hated, then _strongly_detested him. And he couldn't blame him. Not really.

So he was surprised whenever he heard a click and a timid "Hello." He'd admit that he panicked and said the first thing that came to his mind.

He heard a scoff on the other end and winced. "Qui, that much is obvious Monsieur Allemagne." Germany sighed, hearing the scorn in the others tone.

"Ja, vell, over the phone is not exactly what I meant. I would like to meet with you in person. That is, if you vould oblige me?" Silence was heard on the other end. He couldn't be sure if the French nation had hung up or not.

"Um, France?" he asked. "Are you still there?"

Nothing. Sighing again, he shut his phone in defeat. He gazed around the room he was currently staying in at Italy's house. The Mediterranean nation had invited him to stay for a few days. The room was brightly lit cozy. He sat on the bed which was soft and comfy. Nothing at all like the his bed at home.

"Ve, Germany?" came Italy's voice from the doorway. "What did Fratello say?" he asked, coming into the room. Germany frowned. He hadn't even realized that he had been standing there. It wasn't often that the bubbly nation was quiet.

He shrugged in response to the question. Italy frowned and sat beside him on the bed. The frown made him look serious, another thing that he was not generally known for.

"I'm sure he was just shocked to be hearing from you, that's all." He placed a hand on Germany's shoulder. "Dargli tempo il mio amico, I'm sure he'll come around..."

~une petite pause~

Britain knew instinctively that he was needed in his entrance hall before he heard the pounding. He sighed and looked at the antique grandfather clock that stood off to the side of stairs. He'd been hoping to spend a night in, listening to the ever present rain as it fell outside.

This time of night, there were only certain people who would come to his house. Either America had forgotten the little thing called "time zones" or one of his brothers had come to badger him about something or other.

He walked to the door and looked out of the peephole. His eyes widened in surprise. He opened the door to reveal a nearly hysterical France standing on his door step. He couldn't help but feel a little bit concerned about his long time friend and rival.

You could always tell just how upset France was by how he looked when he cried- which sadly was not a rare occurrence. When he was just being dramatic and wanting sympathy, his tears rarely left his eyes. He knew just how to cry so that he still looked appealing to whoever he was trying to garner sympathy from.

The more upset he was though, the worse he looked. Right now, he looked downright miserable. His eyes were red rimmed and still tears were streaming down his ruddy face. He was hiccuping and sobbing, hugging himself as if he would float away if he didn't somehow ground himself to earth.

"My god France," he breathed, standing aside to let the shivering nation inside. "What in god's name happened to you?"

France didn't answer and stepped into the house, trying desperately to calm his frantic cries. Clearly it was going to take some time. Britain put his hands on France's shoulders to steady him.

"Here now, go to the sitting room- I trust you remember where that is?- and compose yourself. I'll go and find you some dry clothing and a towel."

France nodded as Britain walked off.

'Whatever he's upset about," he thought as he neared his room. "It must be huge, to get him to act like this..."

What ever it was though, he reasoned, he knew was going to need a large pot of tea.

Chapter two/end.

A/N: Yeah, lame chapter is lame. I'm not at all satisfied with how this one turned out but well, I'm short on time at the moment and wanted to put something out. As I feared with this story, the more I delve into the actual history, the more I realize that there is no way I am going to fit this into five chapters. Anyway, reviews are what feed poor college students like me so please send some :) see you all next week

_Translations:_

Monsieur Allemagne (FR) : Mr. Germany

Dargli tempo il mio amico (IT) : Give him time my friend


	4. Chapter 3: Révélations pt une

Chapter three

Flashback

"Direct Speech"

'thought'

"Monsieur, s'il vous plaît, vous devez fuir !" The soldier couldn't have been more than 19 or 20. His eyes bright with terror.

France stood still, not wanting to move. This couldn't be happening. He still had a promise to keep to Poland. And if he lost now... Britain would be alone. He could feel tears start to well up in his eyes. The soldier, seeing his nation in distress, came over to him.

"Monsieur, s'il vous plait," he said gently. "Qu'allons nous devenir si vous ne vous échappé pas ?

"Non." he whimpered. "Que deviendrez-vous si je pars?" 

It wasn't fair. He hadn't even wanted this war in the first place. Britain had dragged him along with his 'Stop Germany' plan. He'd been no where near recovered from the last war and now he'd been thrown into this debacle.

Fat tears of despair rolled down his face. It wasn't fair at all!

A hand gently wiped his face. The soldier, with tears of his own, smiled.

"S'il vous plait, Monsieur. Que deviendrons-nous si vous ne laissez pas?" France scrunched his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. His people...

If he died here today, where would his people go? What would they do?

He opened his eyes and nodded. His soldier smiled and hugged him. "S'il vous plaît, ne vous inquiétez pas. Je mourrais pour mon pays-"

Just then, a gun shot rang out. The soldier gasped and slumped against France. Shaking, he looked to where the shot had come from.

His eyes widened at the nation who stood in the doorway.

"Vell, if he vas so eager to die, all he had to do vas say so." Germany said simply, strutting into the room.

Mouth opened in horror, France start backing away, carrying the weight of the soldier with him. "Non." he wispered.

"Monsieur..." the soldier whispered. France glanced down in surprise. He had thought the boy had been killed on impact.

"Monsieur,s'il vous plaît... courez ." With the way the German nation was advancing toward him; running seemed like a pretty good idea.

"Pardonnez-moi." he whispered and dropped the soldier.

Sensing what the French nation was planning, Germany lunged after him. France dodged and sprinted away from the room. 

He raced through the house, knocking various things over as he ran. He could hear the Nazi nation close behind him. 

'No, not like this!' he thought, making a sharp turn. Too sharp as it turned out.

He lost control and went sprawling on the ground. A dark laugh reached his ears.

"Non, je vous en prie Seigneur, pas comme ça... ." he pleaded. Germany approached him calmly. Strangely enough, he was smiling. It was as if the whole thing were amusing to him.

His smile grew larger- and in France's opinion, more terrifying- at France's questioning look.

"I never though Italy's retreating habits vould ever benefit me, that's all." He took another step and France attempted to scoot back.

"Stop toying vith him, Vest. If you're going to do it, then do it already." Prussia came through the door behind his brother. He didn't even acknowledge his old friend. The bitter taste of betrayal entered France's mouth and he felt sick to his stomach.

"Prusse..." he whispered sadly...

~La Petite Pause~

He gingerly opened his eyes, wincing as the light from the open window hit him from across the room. He yawned and stretched out under the covers, vaguely wondering why the hell he had a headache. Had he been drinking last night?

He sat up quickly, groaning quietly at the twinge of pain the movement caused. He was lying on a plush blue couch. The blanket that covered him was embellished with the Union Jack.

Well that answered one questioned. He was at England's house. A better question was, though, _why_ was he over at England's? Memories of the previous night came flooding back to him as his mind woke...

...his birthday... the text from Germany...the CALL from Germany...the request...

He sighed and ran his hand over his face and hair. So he'd freaked out a little. He'd admit it. And then, like a child, had run crying to England's house

'He is _never_ going to let me live this down.' he thought glumly, moving to get up.

"It's about bloody time you woke your arse up Frog; after the spectacle you made last night." came England's voice from the doorway. Subconsciously, France felt his cheeks heat up

"Désolé, Angleterre." he said softly, looking at the ground in embarrassment. "Merci for allowing me to stay the night though. I appreciate it.

England glared suspiciously at him. "What in blazes is the matter with you, France?" he asked. France didn't answer. He continued to stare at the ground, now fiddling with the the edge of the blanket.

England entered the sitting room carrying two cups of tea. He paused in front of the older nation and held one out. "Well, in any case; I believe you owe me an explanation." When France didn't answer, he sighed and held out one of the cups and waited for him to take it.

Again he received no response. England sighed and sat down next to him. "Drink it. It's supposed to help reduce stress. A birthday gift from China." He let out a light chuckle. "I think it's just the thing to calm your nerves."

France glanced at him slyly and nodded, accepting the cup from England. "Merci, mon ami." he said. They sat in silence for a few moments, each sipping their tea quietly, lost in his own thoughts. 

Finally, England sighed and set his cup down on the small coffee table in front of the couch. "Alright," he started, turning to face the French nation. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way, you are going to explain why you showed up on my doorstep at an ungodly hour of the night, in near hysterics." He wait a moment longer for a response then raised an eyebrow in a pointed look.

"Well...?"

France didn't know what to do. On the one hand, he felt silly for coming to England, begging help from the island nation once again. But on the other hand... France bit his lip. England was the only one he could trust as far as Germany went... he was one of only three nations who knew what had truly happened to France during Germany's occupation in WWII. The other two were Russia and Poland but he didn't trust them nearly half as much.

He looked over at his long time friend and rival, his inner debate picking up in intensity. The fact of the matter was... was his being foolish about their blonde haired acquaintance? He jumped when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked over at England who held a quiet firmness in his eyes.

"France, dis moi ce qui ne va pas. S'il te plaît." The fact that he thought the matter was serious enough to speak in his mother tongue made France's eyes water.

He sniffed and wrung his hands together. "Je ne sais pas quoi faire, Angleterre. Il s'agit d'Allemagne " He whimpered, wiping a stray tear from his face.

England stared. What?

Chapter three/end

A/N: Chapter three has to be one of my favorites so far. :) And the drama only gets worse from here! If you have any spare time (you know after you review and such ;] ) Pop on by my profile and vote in my poll to see who the Monsieur ends up with, qui? And stop by my account to see some fan art of the TO BE CONQUERED series :) Btw, I took the idea of the soldier from the last comic :) I'll post a link in my profile. Hope you all have splendid week!

Translations- Mostly French this time 

Monsieur, s'il vous plaît, vous devez fuir (FR): Sir, please, you must flee

Nous devons vous mettre en sécurité (FR): We must get you to safety

Que deviendrez-vous si je pars (FR): What will become of you if I go

Qu'allons nous devenir si vous ne vous échappé pas (FR): What will happen to us/become of us if you don't escape

ne vous inquiétez pas. Je mourrais pour mon pays- (FR): Do not worry. I would die for my country

courez (FR): Run

Pardonnez-moi (FR): Forgive me. (Rather it actually mean "Excuse me" but whatevs)  
>Non, je vous en prie Seigneur, pas comme ça... (FR): No, please God, not like this.<p>

Prusse (FR): Prussia

Désolé (FR): Sorry

France, dis moi ce qui ne va pas. S'il te plaît (FR): France, tell me what is wrong. Please.

Je ne sais pas quoi faire, Angleterre. Il s'agit d'Allemagne (FR): I don't know what to do, England. It's Germany 


	5. Chapter 4: Révélations pt deux

Chapter four

England stared at France. Germany? What did the central European country have to do with anything? He knew that the two didn't see eye to eye on, well, pretty much everything really. Sure, their bosses were getting along for the moment, but it was often time completely different with the personifications.

France didn't trust Germany as far as he could throw him- which was a big NOT AT ALL, and Germany, while recognizing France's growing role as a European power, still thought he was a stuck up conceited twit.

The two very rarely had any personal contact with one another other than world meetings. For France to have been this upset, Germany had to have done something so dastardly, it'd cracked his carefully constructed mask of confidence.

England thought about all of this while France sat sniffling pathetically next to him.

Honestly, England didn't know what to say.

"Well..." he started slowly. "What did the kraut want?" France did not answer immediately, instead he averted his eyes away from the other; a slight blush stained his cheeks.

'My God, he even makes _that_look attractive. England thought awkwardly. 'How the blooming hell does he do it?'

Finally, after another awkward minute, France said, "He wanted to meet with me..."

Yet again, England was stumped. "...meet...with...you?" he asked. France nodded solemnly.

For some reason, he couldn't stop the hot flash of jealousy that ignited. 'Where does that bloody wanker get off?' he thought indignantly .

"And what did you tell him?" he asked stiffly. France was slightly surprised by England's tone. He looked at his friend.

"A-Angelaterre?" he asked. Where had this come from? He looked down at the couch once more.

"Going to make another deal behind my back with him? That worked out so nicely for you last time."

England winced as the words left his mouth. He knew they were cruel but he felt so god damned jealous and he wasn't sure why. And over some stupid conversation France had had with Germany.

'Maybe it's because he seemed so upset.' A voice whispered in his mind. 'You've never liked seeing him upset...' he silenced the voice quickly, not liking which direction the train was headed in. He glanced over just in time to see a look of hurt pass through France's eyes.

'Bloody hell...' he thought.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That probably wasn't the best thing to say." he apologized. France shook his head and refused to speak. His lip trembled and he pursed them.

They sat in awkward silence, England cursing his temper.

He sighed and set his cup down on the table in front of him and turned toward France. He placed a hand on top of France's gently. "Forget what I said. Talk when you're ready, I'll wait."

France blushed at the contact.

Suddenly a voice started singing "O SAY CAN YOU SEE BY THE DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT..." The two leaped apart and England pulled out his phone, muttering about bloody Americans.

"Yes, hello America..." he said irritably. He listened for a minute before giving France an incredulous look. "How the bloody hell did you even- What does Russia even- SINCE WHEN?"

This went on for a good two minutes, all the while France sat with his hands in his lap, a dark blush staining his cheeks. His mind was completely fumbled. England's comment had sparked another memory. His problems with Germany had begun shortly before WWII when he had refused to cease Germany's reparations.

Those stupid reparations... He scowled. They had caused him so much grief. But he'd been so afraid that Germany would get revenge on him that he would have done anything to keep his military unfunded. It had all been to no avail though. France may have had a large army at his command, but Germany's was better trained, and had more expertise in the field.

Their negotiations were a complete flop. Germany had wanted France to lessen his arms while allowing Germany to catch up with him, and France just wanted Germany to leave him alone.

England had disapproved of the entire thing. Then again, he and Germany had never actually been all that close to begin with. But when France had mentioned trying to reconcile with the Blonde nation, England had gone mental; raging about betrayal and underhanded deals. His friend had demanded that he cease any and all deals with Germany and instead offered him an alliance agreement.

The choice, while not a terribly difficult one, had made terrible enemy out of Germany...

"...nce...? Are you listening to me?" England's voice snapped him from his reverie. He looked to his friend to find him with a furious scowl on his face.

"Qui, mon ami?" he asked tiredly. All this talk of the past and Germany was starting to wear him down. England raised an eyebrow and shut his phone with a 'click'.

"America is coming over in a few hours with Russia. Apparently Germany has also contacted him, wanting a meeting." It was France's turn to look confused.

"And this pertains to Amérique... how?" he asked. England's scowl became more pronounced.

"Yes well, apparently America and Russia's bosses have been urging the two to reconcile. Bury the hatch as they say. Russia was over at his house when Germany called...

A/N: another short chapter :( I have finals in math this week so I've been super busy studying for them. That and despite my best efforts, I've managed to catch myself a rather nasty cold. Yeah this week looks promising :T Anyway Next chapter we really get into some depressing stuff so I warn you now. Also with the semester winding down, the chapters will be getting longer as I'll have more time to write :D? Oh and if anyone is curious about the history mentioned in this chapter, just message me and I'll be happy to school you :) See you all next week


	6. Chapter 5: Je N'ai Pas de Mot

A/N: Praise to my awesome friend Kenneth, who gave me the opening passage :D

Underlined: Flash Back

Warning: This chapter contains teen speak of the American variety :P

The sharp click of boots echoed around the dank room, reverberating around until each step carried the crescendo of a platoon of marching feet. Germany eyed the shivering blond in the corner with cold blues eyes.

His crisp green uniform was impeccable, every crease of the fabric and the polish of the leather speaking of a life spent in discipline.''Aufstehen.'' He commanded, the words as sharp as his appearance.

France's once exquisite clothing had now been turned into disheveled rags, hanging limp on his frame from the weight he had lost. Numbness and tears had become his existence since he had become a captive. Now all he could manage was a shiver and a limp gaze.

When he made no other movement, Germany stalked over to him.

"Do not make me repeat myself." he said calmly. "You vouldn't vant to be punished again, vould you?" 

France shook his head frantically, clutching at his shaking form. 

His whole body ached, from the numerous beatings he'd endured. He sniffed, tears streaming down his face in a continuous flow. To hell with his promise to Poland. He wanted home; wanted everything to go back to normal.

He cringed in fear as Germany came toward him, the salt from his tears stinging the cuts on his face.

Germany looked down at the cowering nation and smiled. It was a smile without feeling or mercy. "Maybe it you vould like some help in standing then?"

France shrank back into his corner, "N-non" he stuttered. "J-je peux le faire!" Germany nodded.

Slowly, using the wall as support, France rose to his feet. He felt dizzy from malnourishment and cradled his head in his hand.

"Gut. Now that you are up you pathetic excuse of a country, you are going to do something for me."

France looked at him like he'd grown a third head.

"Quoi? What is it?" anger bubbled up in his chest. "What more could you possibly want from me?" His voice raised just the slightest.

Normally, if he showed any sort of rebellion, he would have been beaten. Or in the least, he would have been slapped. This time however, Germany did nothing but widen his smile. This scared France more than anything else. This time he knew he was in for it...  
>"Ihr Juden..."<span>

~Le petite pause~

"Dude, seriously, like how long is he gonna sit like that?"

"Perhaps until Amerika stops sounding like an idiot?"

"Ha! If that's the case, France is never going to speak again."

"Ha Ha! You both can go straight to hell!"

France blinked out of his daze, the images slowly fading. He looked around the room. He was sitting on the window seat inside of England's study, his knees pressed up against his chest. When had he gotten there? These constant blackouts were getting aggravating.

"Dudes, shut the hell up!" came a familiar voice. He turned to see Russia, America, and England all standing in front of him. He blinked.

"Quoi?"he asked. America smiled and knelt down in front of him. His eyes were kind.

"What's up France?" he asked. "How ya doin?"

France frowned in confusion. What was America doing here again? And more importantly, why was _Russia _here?

"Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" he asked softly, almost sleepily and laid his head on his knees. America shrugged nonchalantly.

"Oh, you know," he said, grinning, "the usual; kicking commie ass and being totally awesome." Behind him, Russia snorted. France laughed softly and smiled. It was good to know that the whole world hadn't gone completely insane.

From behind the young country, England scoffed. "Yes, that's all fine and well but we have a bit of a predicament to deal with at the moment."

America rolled his eyes and stood, scooting off to the side so that France could look at the other two.

"I am assuming that you have a plan on dealing with Germany?" Russia asked the group. France bit his lip and averted his eyes. He really didn't want to talk about this right now.

"Well," America started slowly. "I'm all for the meeting." Three sets of eyes widened in surprise. Britain opened his mouth to retort angrily but America beat him to it,

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say but seriously, hear me out! I like totally swear I know what I'm talking about yo! You'll shit bricks when you hear my awesome plan!" Silence met his explanation.

Finally England said with shock apparent in his voice, "What the bloody hell did he just say?"

"I am thinking that he is saying to listen to him..." Russia said completely deadpanned. France nodded and said nothing.

America nodded excitedly. "Right, so like, hear me out. I know, like, Germany was, like, a complete asswipe to you guys and yeah, I'll admit that he was into some pretty douche-baggy shit. But, like, seriously, don't you think it's time to forget the past? I mean that's why we call it history, you know?"

Silence surrounded the group as America finished with his explanation.

Chapter five/end

A/N: What's that? Three weeks late? Me? Never! _ Okay you caught me! But I have a perfectly good explanation! My roommate and I recently got a kitten for Christmas, so she's been practically taking up all of my time! She especially hates it when I am on the computer :T Also, my roommate has convinced me to team up with her and create a comic, so a lot of my time has gone into planning that (And we still don't have a name for our main character! =o=) Anyway! Thanks so much for your patience with this story and hopefully I will be able to get the next chapter out on time!

Translations

Aufstehen (GER): Stand up!

Je peux le faire (FR): I can do it (I think...don't quote me on that one :T)

Gut (GER): Good

Quoi (FR): What

Ihr Juden (GER): Your Jews (Again I wouldn't quote me on this)


End file.
